


Champagne and Shortbread

by orphan_account



Series: Earl Grey Kisses [1]
Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Arthur is aggressive, Arthur is into voodoo cuz he's dumb, Domestic Fluff, F/F, Fist Fights, Fluff and Angst, Hippies, Intolerance, Louisiana, M/M, Prequel, Punk, Secret Relationship, alternate universe- seventies, catholic families, gaaaay, high school through college
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-04
Updated: 2018-01-05
Packaged: 2019-02-28 07:47:31
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,906
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13266927
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Arthur and Francis like experimenting, especially with each other. High school experimentation turns into romance until Francis leaves Arthur to figure out what he wants.(There is no good explanation. Prequel to My Cup of Tea. If you liked that, read this)





	1. It's a Drag

**Author's Note:**

> Pretend I'm good at naming things, okay? I work hard

Arthur was leaning against the brick building of his school, a thin roll of paper between his lips. It was perched artfully in the v-shape formed by his forefinger and middle. He took a deep draw before pulling it away and letting a stream of smoke pass through his lips. Francis was watching as he walked towards the building and Arthur knew it. He liked tormenting the boy whenever possible. Francis certainly gave him his fair share of grief.

The boy set his bag down next to Arthur and leaned against the brick with him. Arthur was mentally questioning his actions. Francis  _ never  _ associated with him in school. Secrecy seemed to be Francis’ bag. Arthur didn’t mind it, either. It was bad for his reputation to be seen associating with a pretty boy. 

Francis Bonnefoy was what most people liked to refer to as a hippie. Francis called himself a ‘freak,’ which Arthur didn’t really understand but it meant to Francis’ clique that he was cool. Francis’ blond hair was kept long and wavy, almost past his shoulders. Usually, he kept a blue bandana tied in it to keep it out of his eyes. Arthur would never admit it, but the color made the boy’s eyes all the prettier. His t-shirts were too big and always tie-dye paired with bell bottoms. His belts were braided leather. He was a regular casanova. The only difference from him with the rest of his crowd was his refusal to smoke. 

Arthur could not be less like him if he tried. The only similarity between them was that their parents did not approve whatsoever. Arthur kept his hair gelled and messy. He wore a leather jacket with the words “no future” painted in white on his back and an S on the right half and a P on the left half of the front. It was from his favorite band, the Sex Pistols. His black drainpipe jeans were so tight, they pinched his legs. Rips in his shirts or jeans would be held together with safety pins (he kept a baggie of them in his backpack.) He had even dyed his hair green for a week before his parents forced him to go back to the store and re-dye it blonde so it was now an almost white color. His favorite part of the outfit, though, were his combat boots. They had been a little hard to come by, but so worth it. And, of course, he chain-smoked like a goddamn factory. 

Arthur raised his eyebrows at the boy. “What do you think you’re doing?”

Francis plucked the cigarette out of Arthur's mouth, dropping it to the ground and grinding it out with his boot. “Saving your lungs.”

“Hey! That one was new!” Arthur growled, digging into his pocket for his pack of Camels, only to find it empty. “Fuck you, frog. That was my last one.”

Francis snorted at him. “Good. I hate the smell of those things.”

“So don’t stand near me. Why are you over here? Aren’t you worried those morons will spot you with me?” Arthur scowled, crossing his arms.

“You worried about me being seen with you or being seen with me,  _ mon ami?”  _

Arthur gaped at him. Saying he didn’t want Francis to be seen with him would be implying that he gave a fooey about the boy. Saying that he didn’t want to be seen with Francis would make him just as big a douchebag as everyone else in that cooler of a school. “I… oh, buzz off.”

Francis rolled his eyes. He leaned in, making a big scene of holding his breath, and whispered in Arthur’s ear. “See you later, Grueler.”

“Whatever, asshole.” Arthur said, a little sulkily as Francis waltzed away. 

 

There was specific hierarchy in Arthur’s school. The hardcore-punks pushed around the meatheads, and the meatheads pushed around the hippies. What did the hippies do about it? Waved around signs claiming peace, love, flower power, and all kinds of other mushy crap. Arthur did his best to keep out of it. He wasn’t trying to impress anyone. He was just being who he was. Societal rules could fuck off for all he cared. 

Unfortunately, they did not fuck off. They plagued him day and night. It had been hard enough to convince his mother to stop bothering to drag him to church every morning. (It had been quite a stunt too, but he pulled it off. Lucky for him, his mother cared very much what people thought of her. She’d rather be known for her kid not coming to church then her kid lighting a ciggy in the middle of a sermon.) His brothers made fun of him. Said his taste in music was crap. They stole his paper clips, taken to poking him with them whenever possible. If they ever found out Arthur was pretty sure his favorite pastime was kissing boys, his life would be hell. 

He couldn’t bring himself to care when he was kissing one boy in particular.

“Mr. Kirkland, please continue.” The teacher requested.

“Hm?” Arthur said dumbly, looking up from where he had been picking at his fingernails. His book wasn’t even open.

The teacher sighed tiredly. “Page twenty seven. Please pay attention, Kirkland. Mr. Braginsky, please show him where to start from.”

Ivan blinked tiredly at Arthur and slowly pointed at the third paragraph.This was the only time Arthur wasn’t scared of Ivan Braginsky. The boy was always too tired in the mornings to be intimidating.

“With this insult my patience was at an end. I uttered an expression of disgust, and pushed past him into the yard, running against Earnshaw in my haste....” 

The teacher had him read for a few more paragraphs in Wuthering Heights before calling on the quiet kid across the room, Chung Lien. She was one of Arthur’s friends which meant she ran in his group. They got along well enough although they didn’t actually know each other well. They mostly just berated the government and listened to loud music while the talkative ones explained the benefits of their home countries and how America should be more like that. It was all very therapeutic. 

 

The rest of the day ran mostly smooth; although, some of Arthur’s crowd got into it with one of the meatheads, Ludwig Beilschmidt, and his older brother. Arthur was tired of the crap, honestly. If asked, he’d of course stand by his friends but he wished it was unnecessary. He might have even been a hippie if he was into the whole lovey dovey bullshit. The problem was he was too angry to be. He was annoyed by fights but damn could he get into a rave if warranted. 

Francis really bought into the ‘make love not war’ agenda too. Arthur wasn’t sure which pissed him off more. Probably the first. Not to confuse issues, Francis never pressured Arthur into anything, even if he was desperate for it. The thing was, Francis was pretty enough to get any girl he wanted and frankly did. Arthur didn’t mind. Francis could have his flings because Arthur was almost certain if asked, he would stop because Arthur wanted him to. 

“What deep thoughts are you considering today,  _ mon cher?”  _ Francis asked, slinging his arm around Arthur’s shoulders. 

“That you’re being a creep today. What is with you?” Arthur demanded, pushing the arm off and turning to glare at him. Francis frowned down at him and crossed his arms. They were standing in the middle of the sidewalk and completely visible to passersby.

“I just… I’m sorry. I’m invading your space,  _ oui _ .” Francis sighed.

“You think? Stupid frog.” Arthur snorted and began walking again.

“Is it… Can I come over?” Francis inquired, lacking his usual confidence.

“Of fucking course you can, you git.” Arthur rolled his eyes. “You know Allistor works late today. And you’re helping me with Algebra.”

“Algebra or English?” 

The question seemed innocent enough but Arthur knew better. He opened his mouth to insist Algebra before processing Francis’ tone. He hesitated and looked back at the boy. 

“Do you want to work on Algebra or English first?” The question was soft. Something must have happened today if Francis was acting like this.

The smile returned to Francis’ face, less of a leer and more of gratitude. “ _ Anglais, s’il te plait.”  _

“Alright, but I really do need help with Algebra before you leave, okay?” Arthur conceded. 

Francis nodded eagerly and the pair walked a little faster to Arthur’s home.


	2. Tug of War

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I swear, this is going to give my readers whiplash good grief.

The happiest Francis ever was when he had Arthur’s in his arms. He’d mentioned this before and Arthur scoffed with some snide comment about the illusion of happiness, but snuggled closer. Which was the boy’s way of saying he felt similarly. It was warm and sweet and, despite the lack of actual verbal communication, it was full of love. 

Nobody truly loved Francis as Arthur did. It was dumb and sappy, but honest. Francis’ friends were sweet but he knew he was judged for not partaking in the drugs and other behaviors they did (ninety percent because his  _ mére _ would kick his  _ derriére  _ if he did). And his parents would never accept him if they knew he had the kinds of feelings for boys the same as girls. They would tell him to shut up and find a nice girl to settle down with. He didn’t want a nice girl. He was eighteen, sure, but he knew he wanted Arthur. He wanted a rude, slightly aggressive, dorky, wannabe-punk with green eyes and messy hair who was was completely male (although if Arthur was female, he would have no objection.)

“Do you still want to work on English, frog?” It was a sweet check-in in the guise of an insult. 

Francis shook his head up and down, burying his face in Arthur’s hair.

Arthur pulled away slightly, to Francis’ dismay, in order to twist around so he was facing Francis. “You’re being awfully affectionate today. Don’t get me wrong, I don’t mind, but what’s up?”

Francis frowned, looking at his hands, intertwining them with Arthur’s smaller ones. “ _ Je ne sais pas.”  _

“Bullshit. I don’t buy that for a moment, frog. What happened?” Arthur crossed his arms and though the glare was stern, Francis could see the concern behind it.

“Don’t worry about it. You’ll just get pissy, get your face busted, and then I’ll feel terrible.” Francis shrugged. 

“Like I would get in a brawl for you.” Arthur snorted in protest.

Francis raised his eyebrows. “I don’t care what excuse you give me, I know that fist fight with Gilbert was over me,  _ mon cher.”  _

“Just tell me what’s wrong.” Arthur insisted.

“There’s some rumor going around that… Well some of the girls I’ve been with are saying that I caught grid. So some jocks have been pushing me around a bit.” Francis shrugged.

The look on Arthur’s face could kill a man. Luckily for Francis, it was not directed at him. “What the actual fucking hell?”

“It’s really not that big of a deal. They can’t prove anything. And they all think it’s “the homo disease” so it’ll pass.” Francis shrugged.

“The fuck it will. A kid at my brother’s college killed himself over this shit.” Arthur snapped. 

“I’m not going anywhere, baby.” Francis smiled, kissing Arthur’s jaw.

Arthur took a deep breath, recognizing that Francis did not want him to flip out. “You better not,” he grumbled. 

Francis showed his appreciation by kissing Arthur softly. However, nothing with Arthur stayed “soft” very long. Arthur kissed like a dying man, kissed like it was his only source of energy. He used to frankly suck at it, but turned out to be a fast learner. These days he took Francis’ breath away without trying. He especially liked to use his tongue piercing in his exploration of Francis’ mouth. Francis was panting and leaning into him, tangling his fingers in his hair. 

Arthur was the first to pull away, letting Francis run his fingers through his hair, a smirk painted on his face. “Okay. Algebra time.”

Francis agreed without hesitation and watched the man pull out the homework from his bag. The smaller blond returned to him, snuggling into his frame and showed him the assignment. One hand continued playing with Arthur’s short hair while he explained how to solve the equations. Francis was certain Arthur would have fallen asleep if not for the slight anxiety of one of his family members arriving at his gig. As it was, Arthur would occasionally move suddenly to keep himself awake. It was actually incredibly cute. Everything about Kirkland was cute, though Francis would probably get a punch to the face if he vocalized it. Arthur liked to pretend he was dark, intimidating asshole, maybe on the side of sexy. (All of which was bordering on true.) 

“Hey, what happened?” Arthur asked, snapping Francis out of his thoughts.

“Hm?” he hummed in response, pressing his face into Arthur’s neck and breathing him in.

“You went quiet. What were you thinking about?” Arthur asked, setting the mostly-completed homework aside. 

“You.” Francis grinned, a little peck of a kiss placed below Arthur’s jaw.

Arthur turned pink and rolled his eyes with a small head shake. “Stop joshin’ me.”

“Really!” Francis insisted, pulling him closer. “I’m going to miss you after this year.” 

Arthur jerked away from him so suddenly, it was actually frightening. “Excuse me?”

“I said I was going to miss you. Did you really think some cute French boy or girl was going to make me forget you?”

“I’m sorry, when are you going to France?” Arthur demanded angrily.

“ _ Mon Dieu,  _ did I not tell you?” Francis gasped, hands flying to his own face.

“Apparently not!”

“I’m going to college in Nice,  _ mon cher.”  _ Francis informed him gently.

If Francis could see temperature, he would have seen Arthur’s blood run cold. Arthur stared at him with zero expression in those emerald eyes. “Do you want a cuppa or some coffee or something?”

“I… what?”

Arthur stood up and left the room. Francis stared after him, stunned. It took him a few moments to pick his jaw up off the floor in order to go after him. “What are you doing?”

“Brewing coffee, what does it look like? Stupid git.” Arthur shook his head.

“So you’re going to pretend like I didn’t say a damn word then?” Francis inquired, watching him do his thing.

Arthur whirled on him, almost sloshing the hot water all over the kitchen. “What do you want me to say Francis? Oh fucking congratulations! You’re going to another country to a nice school, that’s great. Do you want me to be selfish and tell you how much that pisses me off? Do you want me to complain about my family being poor as shit and how its not fair that I can’t even fucking go to college and you get to? Do you want me to guilt you into staying or break up with you or some shit? What the hell do you want from me?”

“I don’t want any of those things, Arthur.” Francis said slowly. He should have anticipated this. Arthur did not like change or surprises. And Arthur played confident and badass and like nothing mattered to him, but he was insecure and Francis did matter to him. Francis could only imagine what was going on in his head. “It’s not forever. It’s only two years abroad and then I finish up here. I’m not leaving you,  _ mon cher.  _ And I’ll be back over the holidays. My mother just really wants me to go to this school and get to know my relatives up there.”

“And you’ll come back with all that Catholic fooey in your head with some glorious bunny on your arm and you won’t look twice at me.” Arthur snapped. 

Francis could tell he hadn’t meant to verbalize the last part just by the flash in the boy’s eyes. He was going to react to it anyways. “Arthur Kirkland, you are so incredibly stupid. We’re young and foolish but if you think for a damn second some chick with a prissy updo is going to turn my head, I must be doing something wrong.”

“Francis you are eighteen years old. You don’t know what the hell you want.” Arthur hissed, sliding him the mug of coffee. 

“You sound just like  _ ma mére.”  _ Francis snorted pulling Arthur in by his hands. “‘You’re  _ dix-huit ans, Francis.  _ This hippie phase will pass. You’ll find a nice girl, settle down with a bunch of kids… You don’t know what kind of job you want, you’re too young. But we expect you to know anyway because you have to grow up. Grow up, Francis.’ I’m sick of everyone saying I’m too young to know anything but too old to act like I know nothing. Fuck it. I want you. I want your eyes and face and grumpy retorts and cutting comments and your snoring and the way you say my name when your tired. I want you in my arms and I want your body when you’re ready. What will it take for you to understand that?” 

Arthur wrenched his hands away, turning around. “I think you should leave.”

“Arthur-”

“Get out of my house.” Arthur said coldly. 

“Fine. Fine. Fuck you too. I don’t give a damn about your feelings either.” Francis yelled and stormed out. 

**Author's Note:**

> If you like, I'd really appreciate if you would take the time to comment and leave kudos! Thanks. I'll try to update semi regularly. Comments encourage updates, js.


End file.
